


McCoy, Secret Sex God

by livbartlet



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Bones, F/M, Starfleet Academy Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 11:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5783776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livbartlet/pseuds/livbartlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ladies room graffiti says: "For a good time, let Jim Kirk buy you a drink." Scribbled beneath it: "Forget Jim, go for the quiet and scowling friend. SIX TIMES IN ONE NIGHT."</p>
<p>Look, the only point to this whole thing is the idea of McCoy being sexy AF.</p>
<p>(Enabled, way way back in the day, by the fabulous affectingly. I blame my fanfiction writing habit on her, basically.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	McCoy, Secret Sex God

**Author's Note:**

  * For [affectingly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/affectingly/gifts).



Three blocks away from the dorm corner of Starfleet Academy is a bar. (Three blocks is perfect drunk stumble distance, or so one James T. Kirk was heard to pronounce very late - or very early, depends on how you look at it - one Saturday night/Sunday morning.) We'll call it Joe's. Is that its name? Not important, really. The important thing here is not that name on the sign, but the signage inside. And by signage, we mean graffiti. And by graffiti we mean a good hundred years or so of scribbled, scrawled, and scratched-in-wood epithets, names, numbers, haikus, epic love poems in disguise. In the ladies' room.   
  
In the history of Starfleet Academy and Joe's, legends have come and gone. But one legend remains. And very prominently. On the inside of the door of the last stall you will find, in elegant black cursive as tall as your hand, this: "For a good time, let Jim Kirk buy you a drink."   
  
Smaller, but no less enthusiastic or emphatic, block lettering below that piece of legend, refutes it thus: "Forget Jim, go for the quiet and scowling friend. SIX TIMES IN ONE NIGHT."   
  
It all happened something like this: (We think.)   
  
After a typical weekend that included some alcohol-fueled fun at Joe's, and then, for Jim, at least, even more fun in a female cadet's bed, Bones was having another typical week. Classes, studying, and his own typical brand of seriousness that happened to include a lot of snarking at his best friend for interrupting all his serious studying. (He wasn't going to learn all this xeno-biology by osmosis, dammit, Jim.) And typical serious studying included a lot of time in the library. He had his own carefully-staked-out quiet corner on the third floor, close to the medical stacks, but hidden from the parade of his equally studious fellow medical track students. Or at least that's what he thought. The hidden part, we mean.   
  
Until one evening in that typical week - we'll call it Thursday - when a voice from the other side of his high-walled study cube said, with a great deal of irritation and definitely too loudly for a library, "Oh my god, would you shut up!"   
  
He stood up and looked around. Because who the hell was invading his corner of the library? Two cubes over, a pretty but maybe sharp-nosed redhead that he recognized from around was looking at him with a sort of severe look. Well, he could do severe looks. So he did. Serious doctor doing serious things, leave me alone, dammit, look. Except she didn't. Leave him alone, that was. She pointed at him and said, "Yes, you," like some kind of indictment.   
  
"Near as I can tell, you're the only one talking here."   
  
"Is that so? Because I don't think it's me talking to myself about Andorian lymph nodes."   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
"You talk when you study."   
  
"Like hell I do!"   
  
She shook her head. "Now I know why this corner of the library is always empty." Then she grabbed up her books and study PADDS and stalked away.   
  
So he went back to studying and sort of forgot about it.   
  
The next night was Friday, which meant Jim dragged him to Joe's for a drink or four (T.G.I.F. Bones! The girls are looking fiiine tonight! Ooh, check out the blonde at 9 o'clock!). Bones was nursing a bourbon while Jim made merry with the flirting and the partying atmosphere, which was fine with Bones, because he liked a good reason to roll his eyes and that was mostly a good enough Friday night for him.   
  
Except the blonde at 9 o'clock had a friend with her and when Jim had circled them in closer, that was when Bones realized the friend was the indictful redhead from the library. Except she wasn't looking indictful or severe - being out of cadet uniform would do that for anyone, probably - it was more of a tasteful tarty thing with a small black top and tight jeans and loose red hair.  
  
"Oh, it's you." But she said it with a smile. While one hand tucked some hair behind her right ear.   
  
Jim most likely ended up going home with the blonde. But that is not important. What is important is that Bones went home with the redhead. Or she went home with him. Unimportant details.   
  
What IS important is this:   
  
Her name was Lena, the red hair was real, and eight minutes after they disappeared from Joe's, Bones was fucking her against the wall just inside the door of her dorm room. Ten minutes after that, they were still going, still against the wall (still only half undressed), her fingers digging into his back, their mouths (tongues and teeth, you get the picture) matching the action of their hips, only one of his hands supporting her weight while the other (wicked surgeon fingers, she would later say) played against her body, against - uh huh, oh, yeah, that spot right there.   
  
The first time was quick and dirty and hot and sweaty and sexy as hell.   
  
The five times after that more than made up for whatever finesse might have been lacking, there against the wall. Not that Lena had any complaints.   
  
The second time was much much slower and much more naked. And on the bed. On top of the covers. Intensely drawn-out foreplay like an exploratory expedition. From her toes to the top her head and everywhere in between, and very thoroughly, too. So by the time Bones replaced his wicked (she was from Boston, it's an excellent word, and Bones really was that good - or bad - all perspective, again) magic tongue with his even more magic cock, Lena though she might die just from that first thrust. And she kind of did. In a really wicked excellent sort of falling apart and then slowly coming back together while he was still inside her and still thrusting and oh-my-god she was falling apart again sort of way.   
  
The third time was in the kitchen. (Kitchenette, actually, it was a dorm room after all.) On the counter. While the last two-spoons-worth of chocolate ice cream melted in the carton. (Chocolate ice cream was pretty much all she had left in the way of sustenance, and obviously it was good enough in the sustenance department, thank you very much.) Ice cream melted and maybe glaciers melted, because Lena certainly melted. Because scowly studious doctor man actually laughed as she made love to a spoon of chocolate ice cream. Even his laugh was wicked. And then he pulled the chocolate sauce out of the fridge and that was when the real melting started.   
  
The fourth time stretched from the shower (the chocolate sauce got very messy) and back to the bed. "My turn," she said as she pushed against his solid chest and then proceeded to return the favor, exploratory expedition style.   
  
They slept for a while after that, under the covers finally (not that they were required, Bones was a walking furnace - and she knew his name was McCoy but that Kirk guy had introduced him as Bones), spooned, one of his hands still possessive on her breast.   
  
The fifth time felt just as insistent as the first, which was crazy because hello, five times, and she was sore and how the hell did he still have anything left. He was like Bionic Bones or something. Which she might have said/moaned/gasped, because he laughed again and then pushed her higher and wasn't it good she was flexible.   
  
There was sleep in there again somewhere. Maybe.   
  
The sixth and last time was just as dawn was creeping through the blinds. Slow and maybe kind of foggy like morning always was in San Francisco, except fog didn't allow for razor sharp details like the curve of his lower lip or the scratch of his stubble across her belly or the knowing lift of his eyebrow as he made her squirm and gasp and moan and sigh, playing her like a Steinway concert grand. He had the hands for it, no doubt. Wicked surgeon hands that left before the sun was fully up, while Lena slept. More utterly satisfied than she ever had been or ever would be.   
  
And that is how it happened. We think.


End file.
